Speaking My Language
by Maiden of the Moon
Summary: Susannah's hiding something. . . or, more specifically, SITTING on something. A book? But why? She's fed up, that's why. (SJ fluff. Pointless, one-shot, fluff. Rated for: Langauge. And, of course, fluff! XD)


_Disclaimer: I don't own the Mediator series. . . but I wouldn't say no to a hot guy like Jesse haunting my bedroom. XD_

Author's Note: Heya! This is just a short little fluffy bit for Suze and Jesse, because I noticed a serious lack of **unadulterated fluff** for them on this site. Tsk tsk. (Speaking of which- anybody have an interest in a limy-one shot? 'Cause I have an idea for one, if anybody would read it. . .)

**Please bare in mind that I've only read books 1, 2, 5, and part of 3.** (I saw 5 at the library, thought it was a "one-shot" book— for lack of a better word— and finished it in four hours. After I realized there was more to the series (it didn't take long) I went to the library and snatched them up. I read book one in the same amount of time. XD Jesse is soooooo sweet! Were he an anime character, I'd add him to my Bishie List in seconds_. In fact, maybe I'll make an exception and add him anyway. Mwahahaha. . .)_

**Also, a language note:** In my elementary school, we had Spanish thrust upon us every year until graduation. I also had it in 5th, 7th, and 8th grade. Then— sick of learning lesson one over and over again— I quit. So I am, by no means, an expert in Spanish. Heck, I borrowed my friend Emmy's Spanish to English dictionary for this fic. In addition, I am writing things out how they sound_ for Suze, NOT how they're actually written. Jesse, however, being fluent, both has the words written correctly and says them correctly. (Yea, lucky Jesse! (Throws a party)) _

_. . . Yeah. _

_XD Please enjoy!_

**X**

**Speaking My Language**

**X**

"_Mee llama_—isn't that an animal? No, wait— _laa-mo eh-su Suze_. . . I think. . ."

Susannah Simon— reluctant VP of Junipero Serra Mission Academy, feared and unchallenged "Queen of Freaks," and Mediator extraordinaire (if she did say so herself)— scowled angrily at the book she'd propped open on her lap, flipping frantically from page to page. "No," she muttered under her breath, curling her legs closer to her side. "That can't be right. . . can it?" Glancing questioningly from the text to the irritated cat beside her— who only bothered to shoot her a look of deepest loathing before continuing to wash himself— Suze blew out her cheeks, irritated. "Like you'd help even if you _knew_. . ."

Spike released a satisfactory sort of yawn, leaping off of the window seat and forsaking Susannah's company. Not that she gave a damn, anyway. Gave her more room to stretch. Which she did gratefully.

"Okay, let's try something else then," the teen muttered aloud, tucking a silky strand of chestnut hair behind her ear; attempting fruitlessly to mask her annoyance with determination. Skipping to the next chapter, she began again- still conversing quietly with herself under her breath.

Hey, everyone thought she did so anyway- what was the harm? Besides, no one was in her room. . . At that moment. . .

She assumed.

"_Que-eee_. . . no, wait— I think that— yes, oh yeah. . . _kay oh-ra es_?" 

"_Son las diez._"

And, as always, she assumed wrong.

"!" Giving a nasty jolt, her hand reaching involuntarily to clutch the cloth covering her racing heart, Suze whipped her head away from the book and shot the ghost (who'd materialized beside her bed) a furious glare. "I told you not to do that!" she snarled, sounding a smidgen squeaky, as she snapped her book shut; stuffing it in the gap between herself and the window.

Jesse shrugged in retaliation, looking both perplexed and amused. "You asked,querida. So I felt obliged to answer. But never mind that— what are you doing up so early on a Saturday morning?" Susannah squirmed slightly upon processing the question. (He never had been one to beat around the bush. . . When it _didn't matter_, anyway. But, oh— he'd managed to avoid the subject of their feelings for each other for a _long_ time. . .) "It's not **that** early," Susannah protested indignantly, continuing her uncomfortable shifting as gradually, she felt her heart rate begin to slow down— almost returning to normal. Almost. "Anyway, not that it's really any of your concern, but I was. . . uh. . . working on some homework," she finished lamely, too flustered to come up with a good lie.

Oh, it was going to cost her. . .

The ghost arched his scarred eyebrow at her weak response, taking a few steps closer and crossing his arms. "Are you hiding something from me, Susannah?" he asked lightly, tilting his head foreword and staring pointedly at her guilty face.

"No!" she retorted quickly, twisting so that the book was now cushioning her rear, hands grasping the spine and cardboard covers to hide the title from view. "You're delusional."

"Mmm," he hummed, unconvinced, as a small grin tugged on his lips. 'Shit,' Suze couldn't help but think angrily, frustrated at her own inaptitude at telling untruths. 'Didn't take him long at all. . .' Not that she had suspected it would. Instead, she'd been hoping he'd keep his 19th-century nose out of her business (and room) until she was. . . ready. "Really, querida. I'm disappointed. Usually it's so much harder to detect a lie from you. You're taking all the fun out of this."

Spike, who had long since begun purring (damn cat), shot the mediator what could only be described as a look of smug superiority. That settled it. No kitty treats for him.

"Oh, leave me alone," Suze sighed, casting the ghost a weary glance. "I'm tired. And I'm sore from last night's stupid poltergeist. And I'm not very good at what I'm trying to do here, so I'd appreciate it if you left before I start to scream in frustration." To emphasize her point, she slammed her fist against the bay window, making the glass rattle. But with, of course, a price. Now her knuckles hurt, too.

Jesse, once more, quirked an eyebrow— closing the few feet left between them with three graceful strides. ". . . That was foolish."

"_Shut up_," Susannah spat virulently, crossing her legs Indian style before attempting to massage the feeling back into her hand. "I realize that!" . . . Now, anyway.

The ghost simply shook his head at her childish display. "Oh, Susannah," he murmured in a musing sort of way, "you really are so utterly hopeless." Crouching beside her, he took her throbbing fist in his own and smoothed the fingers out, warming them up and dulling the pain with his palms. And, despite feeling a tad insulted (no matter how kindly the insult had been said), Suze allowed herself to smile slightly in embarrassed glee; face now a lovely shade of light magenta. ". . . Maybe," she grudgingly agreed, a hint of happiness in her voice, "maybe just a little."

He chuckled.

After a few long moments, Jesse slowly removed his hands— soundlessly asking for Suze to flex them experimentally. She did so without protesting, happy to find that the hurt was gone, disappearing with the fog that covered the Californian ground. Excellent. Now if she could _just_ keep her reasons for being up so early out of the conversa—

"So, now that you're done ranting, will you tell me why you woke yourself up at this—to quote you, 'ungodly'— hour on the weekend?"

Curses. And she had been _so_ _sure_ that he hadn't been listening the last time she'd ranted about alarm clocks and days off.

"I told you," Susannah heard herself repeating with a little more feeling, sitting a bit heavier on the textbook beneath her bottom. "I'm working on homework."

"I know for a fact, querida, that you never even _think_ about homework until late Sunday night," Jesse countered firmly, still squatting beside her. From her position on the window seat, his posture gave her a perfect view down his already low-cut shirt. She felt a shiver race down her spine.

Yes, she decided, clothes like _that_ on a body _his_ should be illegal. Far too many girls would be prone to swoon in the street and get run over by trucks when they saw him.

. . . Oh, wait. No other eligible girls (to her knowledge) _could _see him. Well, ha ha. Their loss! 'I suppose this Mediator thing has a _few_ perks. . . heeheehee. Now, then, back to the argument at hand!'

"Yes, well— what with that raging ghoul on the loose, I expect my nights will be rather busy for the next few days, and I'd prefer not have to worry about homework. There's only so much slack Father Dom will cut me. Toppling buildings and mass pandemonium he can deal with. Missed assignments? No way."

"I see," Jesse drawled, sounding as skeptical as before. "But if that's the case, then why are you _sitting_ on your book? Perhaps I may be a bit out of date, but last I checked most students open them and use their eyes to process information. . . not their rears." Smirking in a way he clearly thought could be described as 'innocent,' the ghost began to drum his fingers against Suze's window seat; waiting for her creative comeback.

He didn't have to wait too long, considering. Just long enough for her face to cool off.

"I'm not trying to suck information up through my butt, if that's what you're implying," she snorted, appalled at the very thought. "I just didn't want to get cat hair all over it by setting it on the ground while I talk to you. Brad asked to use it next, and he'd allergic to cat hair."

"How very kind of you." The spirit inclined his head slightly before matching her stare with his own. "But tell me— why didn't you just put it in your lap? Is it _that_ tempting of a read?"

"Uh. . . yes. . . ?" 

"Are you asking me or telling me?" he pressed politely, though clearly enjoying every minute of this.

". . ." Susannah floundered to find words for a moment— mouth opening and closing like a fish's— before allowing her expression to morph into a glower; bopping Jesse over the head with her fist. "Can it, J—"

Unfortunately, in order to use her fist to bop Jesse over the head, she first had to loosen her grip on her book. And, in doing so, she gave the ghost just enough room to grab the edge of the cover and tug— using his superhuman strength to yank the thing out from underneath her rump without any effort at all. In retrospect, it reminded the girl of the trick in the old cartoons with the fancy dishes and tablecloth. Only more aggravating.

Suze's rear, which had seconds before been an inch higher, connected with the window seat with a muffled 'thud.' "Ow! Jes—!" But her voice died in an instant upon noticing the expression on the boy's face— one of shock and barely suppressed humor. The mediator felt her face flame.

"Basic Spanish for Beginners. . . ?" Jesse choked, holding the book at an arms length in order to take in the bright, childish front cover, decorated with happily dancing stick people in sombreros. He barely managed to quell a snort of mirth upon flipping it open, finding that the inside was just as corny as its out. "Wha- querida, what on _Earth_ are you doing with this?"

Susannah, who couldn't decide if she was embarrassed or just plain furious, opted to glance bashfully away while still using her 'now-you've-pissed-me-off' voice. A delightful compromise, in her mind. "I- I- ooo, fine! I finally got fed up not being able to understand you, okay?" she growled, arms tightening over her chest; eyes trained on the hibachi bushes outside. "I was sick of you going off and ranting in Spanish—which I don't understand, in case you haven't figured that out yet— and refusing to tell me what you said afterwards. So I thought I'd try to learn enough of it to. . . to pick out key words and stuff. . . and not feel so left out." Which was pathetic, even she knew that— why should she feel _left out_ when it was only the two of them? What was she jealous about? It's not like he was talking to anybody else— just _himself_!

". . ." Jesse blinked, taken aback but oddly pleased. "You want to learn Spanish . . . to talk to me?" 

Suze blinked in return. All right, that was reading between the lines just a smidgen. . . but, she had to grudgingly admit, he wasn't too far off. (In fact, most normal people would've called that a 'bulls eye'.) ". . . I guess."

Within seconds, a beam so bright lit up his face that, had she had any sunglasses with her, Suze would have put them on right then.

"Wonderful! And this book is helping?" he inquired enthusiastically, dangling Basic Spanish for Beginners between his thumb and forefinger and giving it a light wave.

"Er. . . not really," she confessed sourly, leaning back against the wall and watching the ghost play with the poor excuse for a textbook. "It's really, well, basic, and I'm not good at the pronunciation. It's hard to tell, not being able to hear it said properly, and all." 'That, and this is the first time I've had a chance to _open_ it,' she added flatly in her mind, but didn't bother to say aloud. 'Not that he needs to know that.'

"That's fine," Jesse replied with a wave of his hand, more cheerful than she'd seen in ages. Leaning against the opposite wall, he stretched out his feet so that his toes were gently brushing her hip, and vice versa. "I can help you if you like." Opening the book and placing it on his lap, he eagerly read what was written there in huge, multicolored type. "Hmm. . . let's start on page one. _¿Cómo estás?_" He grinned over the top of the pages at the blank expression on the girl's face. "It means 'how are you'?" 

"Oh. Uh. . . good?"

"_Estoy bien."_

"Yeah, that." 

"Susannah, if you want to learn, you're going to have to try," he reprimanded gently, shaking his head like a teacher would. "You have to repeat it. It'll help you remember it in future."

"Um. . . okay," Suze blew out her cheeks, knowing it would be pointless to argue. He was only trying to help. . . and she liked how close she got to sit to him during this little exercise. So it all averaged out. Sort of. "_Est-tuoi bee-en. . ._"

"Very good! But move your mouth like this when you say it. Watch me."

When she looked back on the event later, those words—she determined— were the things to blame (or thank, whatever).

"Uh. . . what?" she said monotonously, sure she hadn't heard right. As if she needed an _invitation_ to stare, but. . . well. . .

"Watch me," he repeated, not having caught on to why Suze was suddenly turning such a delightful shade of fusha. Pointing to his lips, he repeated the words more slowly, accentuating each movement. . . and sending the teenager into a temporary stupor.

Sure, she was paying attention to his lips. But that was **all** she was paying attention to.

". . .tand? Susannah?" He snapped his fingers once or twice before her glazed eyes, looking concerned. The girl straightened automatically. "Susannah, do you understand?" 

"Huh? Oh— yeah, yeah of course I do." She grinned sheepishly; not liking the fact that she'd been caught 'sleeping while awake.' "I just. . . uh, well, this is so boring. Too simple. I think I'm ready for more complex Spanish, now." 

"Querida, you can hardly answer 'how are you' without getting tongue-tied."

"Yeah, but I understand it. Pronunciation will come with practice," she quipped, waving a hand nonchalantly and missing the suddenly mischievous look that flitted across Jesse's face. (And it was, after all, a rather rare expression—only ever displayed in the presence of his Susannah). "So c'mon, teach me something interesting. Like: 'let's kick this ghost's butt' or 'where's the nearest payphone' or half of those curse words you mutter when you think I'm not listening."

A beat of silence past. And then. . .

". . . All right," he murmured, his tone smoother and silkier than normal—and that was saying something. "I'll teach you something more advanced. Repeat after me: _Me sascina tú._"

Susannah started at the sound of his voice, unused to winning arguments so easily. But, deciding to relish her victory instead of question it, she echoed (as best as she could): "_Mee sassy-cina too._"

"Not quite." The ghost smiled gently, gingerly placing the book on the floor as he propped himself up on his knees. Leaning forward and planting his fists on either side of Suze's hips, he allowed his nose to brush the girl's— his lips pressed ever-so-lightly against her own.

She stiffened instantly in shock. He pretended not to notice.

"Say it with me," Jesse whispered, their mouths instinctively moving together at this distance.

No longer distracted by the _sight_ of his lips and temporarily brain dead due to joyful shock, Susannah did as she was told. Quite happily, actually.

"_Me sascina tú_," they breathed as one, voices soft and shy— yet full of a strange boldness. Suze felt him grin against her, his tender black eyes locking with her own as he pulled away.

A second wave of silence crashed over them; a long, echoing silence in which the girl began to chew on her tongue and the inside of her cheek, unsure of what to do or say. And then, it hit her.

"Wait a minute. . ." she frowned lightly, though nowhere near mad. Again, not that _he_ needed to know that. "What exactly did I say?"

Jesse shrugged mysteriously, apparently very amused. "You said you were smart enough to learn the advanced stuff," he teased, his face looking— though she knew it was impossible— a fraction pinker than normal. "So figure it out. I'm sure it's in your textbook _somewhere_."

That said, he disappeared—leaving her to scour through the remaining pages for two and a half long hours, all to find the very simple sentence '_I love you'_ written as its translation at the very end of the last chapter.

". . .

. . . Advanced my foot," Suze heard herself grumble, snapping the book shut.

But she couldn't have kept the beam off her face if she'd tried.


End file.
